Focus
by AquilaKate
Summary: When Simmons gets her mind around a puzzle that continuously thwarts her, sometimes it takes control, and she forgets who's in charge.


**Focus**

When she gets her mind around a puzzle that continuously thwarts her, sometimes it takes control, and she forgets who's in charge.

She thoroughly enjoys a challenge, but the excitement and mystery can only sustain her for so long before curiosity turns into frustration and some squirmy back-of-the-mind feeling of failure that she doesn't like to think about. There's this unreadable timer ticking down in her head, and she knows that when it reaches zero, she will have officially reached the point where she isn't good enough and has let everyone down. So she has the tendency to be a bit...distant when she's stuck on something.

When Jemma was a child, it would drive her mother to tears. Her vibrant, cheerful child shut so tightly in her own head that none of the lifelines she threw could even come close to allowing her to pull herself out. Mrs. Simmons had always been wary of her daughter's scientific passions, secretly afraid that she would be left behind once Jemma was fully immersed in a world that had always seemed so clinical and foreign to her. It only got worse when she grew up and suddenly there were real stakes behind her work.

For instance, the 0-8-4 they'd found at the sight of some pretty gruesome, decidedly un-normal deaths in an abandoned warehouse. They'd located the perpetrator, who claimed to have no knowledge of the clearly biological object left at the scene. And so it became Jemma's problem.

No amount of testing has revealed the identity or make-up of the object, so Simmons has been forced to take samples of the matter and look at things on a chemical level. Normally, this would be very exciting. Except, it's not _working_.

And so now, she's stuck. And her work is taking over.

* * *

Fitz has seen the signs before. Two or three times at the academy. He knows what's coming.

It's not a good sign that she's already so quiet.

On a good day, she's chatty. Filling him on every part of her work, even the strictly biological aspects that no self-respecting engineer should allow himself to hear. But he always listens anyway, because chatty means she's excited. And enjoying her work. And he's not blabbering on to himself like a bloody lunatic.

"Would have liked to see Director Fury's face when he saw this acquisition request." He's helping her pull out the old whiteboard from storage. Though helping is probably the wrong word because he's doing all the work, and she's staring _through_ him in a way that tells him to get out of the way before he ends up with marker on his face. "Don't think he'd see the value in doing it the old-fashioned way, what with all the tech he pays for.''

He bends over to lock the wheels, but looks back over his shoulder when he realizes she hasn't answered him. "Simmons?"

Jemma nods, but he's not sure she knows what she's agreeing with.

"Are you-"

"I need something large enough to keep everything visible at the same time but also resistant to any type of technical glitch that we may experience," she says finally, probably to avoid answering what she knew he was going to ask. "The old-fashioned way is perfect."

There's nothing left to do but accept it and get out of the way. Except, he's Fitz and she's Simmons, and he has to try one last time. "Last time I saw you working with one of these was our last practical assignment at the academy. You got stuck with that impossible compound that no one could solve."

"I solved it," Simmons mutters, frowning.

"Yeah, after two weeks without any sleep. And you missed a full week of classes."

"I caught up."

"You fainted," he says urgently. "Had to be taken to the medical ward!"

She purses her lips and looks away _because he is right_ and she must know it. "Yes, well," she says stiffly. "I feel fine."

Fitz nods. "Alright then," he agrees, even though he realizes that they haven't solved anything. "Keep it that way."

He steps away to let her focus and takes a shuddering breath when he watches her eyes glaze over into that familiar focused stare.

This could only end badly.

* * *

"I guess this is what she looks like during finals week, huh?" Skye asks, twirling in a desk chair and waiting for Fitz to reprimand her for the _dangerously_ open water bottle she has near his equipment.

He doesn't even glance at it. "Don't say 'finals week'. She'll remember we're not going to have one this year and be even more upset."

Skye frowns.

"It's like her Christmas," Fitz clarifies. "It's a bit sickening really."

"Ah." She starts to carefully tip the bottle on its side, letting the liquid run almost to the opening before turning it upright again. "So... this." A sharp nod towards Jemma, who doesn't seem to realize that they're in the room. "What is it?"

Still watching the scientist on the other side of the lab, he shrugs. "Focus, mostly. Maybe some fear."

Skye startles. "Is that thing gonna kill us?"

"Course not. Perfectly harmless."

"Okay, I'm officially lost. What's she afraid of?"

Fitz looks away from the whiteboard and seems to realize for the first time that she's there and (don't mind her) trying to carry on a conversation. "What are you doing?" He grabs for the water bottle, and Skye's annoyance with the abrupt change of subject is overshadowed by her delight at finally getting a rise out of him. "Do have any idea how many projects in this lab could be ruined by just the _idea_ of moisture? Months of work-"

"I'd stay and hear all about it, but training's calling my name!"

She knows she home free because it's not like he's going run after her, not with the way his eyes have been following his lab partner all morning. Still, instead of making a clean break, Skye turns back, suddenly solemn.

"She's been at it for like two days. She's gonna be okay, right?" she asks, staring at Simmons, who still has no idea that she's being discussed.

Fitz stops his purposefully condescending lecture about how _water_ and _sensitive electronic prototypes_ don't mix and softens. "Yeah," he assures her, smiling like he means it. "I'll make sure of it."

* * *

They are close to the 72 hour mark when Jemma starts to lose hope.

She has made absolutely no headway, and the 0-8-4 is starting to do something that looks disturbingly like rotting. What if it dies before she can figure out what it is? What if she's working with a time limit that's almost up? She's going to kill Fitz for making her take that nap. Two hours that could have been spent looking for an answer before the clock runs out.

The symbols swim in her vision, and _really_ how can anyone be expected to work when these equations won't stay still? And why is it so incredibly warm in here all of a sudden? She's told Fitz hundreds of times that messing with the climate control can harm some of her more sensitive materials. What if the 0-8-4 is temperature sensitive?!

Her hand grabs for a different colored marker to differentiate the work associated with that theory from the chemical equations she's already written. She ran out of room on the whiteboard hours ago and because she can't afford to erase anything, she's moved on to the glass doors of the lab, which make a surprisingly effective canvas. Her fingers never make contact with the new marker, so she turns to look for it. The room doesn't stop turning when her head does, making her grapple for purchase on a nearby stool.

"Jemma? Jemma!"

Fitz guides her to the floor, probably just as uncertain as she is that she'll be able to stay balanced on a stool. "Take it easy," he urges, but it's hard to listen because his face is swimming front of her, and she's losing valuable time. She tries to get up again, but her feet slide on the tile floor, and Fitz pulls her back down. "Easy," he says again, feeling for her pulse. "We need to get you something to eat. And some real sleep."

"I don't have time for that," she argues, holding her head in her heads. "Whatever it is, it's already decaying."

"So let it die! It's better than _you_ decaying."

With her lip tightly clenched between her teeth, Simmons stares into his eyes, trying to figure out if he really doesn't understand how important this is. "Am I a robot, Fitz?"

"What? No," he says confusedly, grabbing her shoulders and staring at her like he's sure she's having hallucinations.

"Then I would think that, as a biochemist, I would have a much better idea of what's good for me than an engineer would," she snaps.

Fitz rocks back on his heels, looking stung. A deep feeling of guilt squirms in her stomach, but she ignores it and continues to glare at him.

"You're lucky I know that you're just cranky," he grumbles, rising to his feet. "I'm going to go get you a sandwich or something. Then, I'll leave you alone. What use do you have for an engineer anyway?"

Everything feels so much worse when he's gone. But Simmons still has work to do. She pulls herself up and drags a chair away from one of the computers to keep next to her, just in case. Before she can put her marker back to the door, it slides open. She sighs. "Fitz!"

But it's not Fitz who enters the lab. When Jemma turns around, Agent May is standing there, raising a thin eyebrow. "Tea," she deadpans, holding a mug towards her.

Jemma flushes. "Sorry," she mutters. "Thought you were someone else. And thank you, but I'd rather not right now."

"I can make you drink it," May says helpfully, and Jemma must be more tired than she thought because it sounds more like an offer than a threat. Either way, she has no doubt that May will actually do it, so she drops into the chair and allows the older woman to press the mug into her hands. May continues to stand over her, hands behind her back, watching her with calm, expressionless eyes. Her presence is the only thing keeping her from spitting the mouthful of tea back into the mug. _This is awful_, she thinks, trying to appear grateful for the sludge she's been served. The exhaustion is hitting her hard now. The biochemist in her is screaming that something isn't right, but all Jemma can focus on is the foul taste in her mouth and how heavy her eyelids are becoming. Her hands bring the mug back up to her lips instinctively, and this time she can't stop herself from pulling a face.

"I'm sorry, Agent May," she offers when the other woman tilts her head curiously. "It's just...well...this is sort of terrible."

Logically, she knows that May would never harm her, but it doesn't stop her from flinching when she reaches toward her. But May just calmly plucks the mug out of the scientist's hands. Her shoulder dips in an almost imperceptible shrug. "I would think so," she says, closing a nearby laptop despite Jemma's protests. "You can only mask so much of the taste."

_What?_

Jemma blinks hard, surprised when her eyes refuse to open again.

"Get some rest, Simmons," she hears just before her shoulders topple into May's steady hands.

* * *

"So this was somewhat out of hand."

Phil Coulson surveys the lab, taking in the scattered papers and literal writing on the walls. The abandoned 0-8-4 lays on its side on one of the lab tables, tipped over by Fitz's frantic scramble to get to his partner after May informed him that she was unconscious in her bunk. Phil picks it up and rotates it in his hand, wondering how one tiny, little unidentified life form could wreak havoc on his people.

"You think?" May snorts.

"Was it really necessary to sedate her?"

She pointedly scratches at the marker on the glass wall and cocks her head.

Sighing, Coulson nods. "Yeah," he admits. "Probably for the best."

May's brow creases, like the idea that something that one of her plans could ever not be the correct course of action is perplexing to her.

_Of course it is._

* * *

Her head is heavy, and she's detecting just the slightest hint of cotton mouth when she comes to. Despite that, she's feeling better than she has in days, which is encouraging enough to force her eyes open. There's a familiar rustling sound that she recognizes as the pages of a book, and she immediately seeks it out. Fitz is on the floor, leaning against the wall of her bunk, flipping through an old chemistry journal.

''I could digitize these for you," he offers when he notices her attention. "Any one that you wanted, right at your fingertips."

"Silly Fitz," she smiles.

Her head is clear enough now to allow her sit up, and she does, stretching and shaking her head fondly. "It just wouldn't be the same."

He shrugs, but she knows that he doesn't really want to drop it. She'll hear more about the wonders of technology and the unnecessary clutter her books add to their lab later. For now, he moves to sit next to her on the bed. Fitz smiles shyly at her, and for a second she's startled (because since when is Fitz anything less than perfectly comfortable with her?) until she remembers what an absolute horror she's been this week.

"I'm so sorry, Fitz," she says softly, staring down at her lap. "I've been treating you terribly for days."

"Really?" he asks, feigning surprise through that wonderful, wide Fitz grin. "I didn't notice a difference, to be honest."

Gently, Jemma knocks her shoulder into his and giggles when he grabs his "injured" joint and falls sideways in mock pain. The room starts to swim into front of her again, and it must show on her face because he puts an abrupt stop to his dramatics and sits up to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Go easy. You're probably still a bit out of it."

"Yes," she agrees thoughtfully, creasing her brow. Then, "Agent May drugged me."

"She did," Fitz smirks. "If you want to go confront her about it, I'll be right behind you…with a camera."

They sit silently for a few moments, both afraid to carry their conversation much further in any direction for fear of bumping into the elephant in the room. Finally, Jemma decides to charge straight forward and tug on its trunk. "The 0-8-4?"

Fitz frowns and answers cautiously. "The academy. We dropped it off a couple of hours ago."

Jemma nods. Even as she stares at the floor, she feels his eyes on her and sighs because she knows that after how she's treated him, he deserves some answers.

"It's just…" she starts, faltering when she chances a quick look at Fitz's face to find him staring gently back at her. "It's just that I'm a scientist, Fitz. This is what I'm good at. If I'm not…"

"You're not good at science because you can't figure out this one problem?"

"I know," she says firmly, scowling because they are equals and it's very unfair of Fitz to make her feel so _silly_. "I suppose I forget sometimes."

Fitz grins, and something inside Jemma untangles itself. "So I'll remind you then, problem solved."

_Silly Fitz_. Except it's not so silly, because everything seems much simpler now and Jemma feels almost weightless and giddy. She looks down at her lap and frowns when she notices her attire. "Fitz…please tell me that the Cavalry didn't change me into my nightclothes."

"Skye did that," he says soothingly, before something playful sparks in his eyes and he adopts a fake impressed expression. "She did carry you up the stairs, though."

_He really should have anticipated the pillow_, Simmons thinks as she swings it into his stomach and tries to knock him from the bed.

* * *

"Here she is!" Fitz announces proudly, pushing her into the lounge by her shoulders. He's too excited to pick up on her hesitance, but Coulson does and acknowledges it with a wink. "You look like you're feeling better," he praises.

Simmons is red-faced, uncomfortable with the number of eyes on her, until May mercifully engages the other three and leaves the two of them to talk. The scientist grins sheepishly at him before inquiring about the experiment that started it all.

"Don't worry. We'll have an answer soon," he assures her. "I've been instructed to send it to Professor Morris, who, I've been told, is known for his timely, efficient work."

"Oh no, sir," she says, looking horrified. "Professor Morris will lock it up a storage closet and never get around to-"

She cuts herself off when she notices the mischievous look on his face. A quick but grateful glance in Fitz's direction tells him that she's caught on to their plan. "Thank you, sir."

Phil nods. "It will be there when you're ready for it. I know you must be dying to find the answer."

There's a noise at the other end of the room, and Simmons turns to look at Fitz who is recreating some sort of incident involving Skye and a bottle of water for a sympathetic Ward and an indifferent May. Skye stands slightly behind him, making faces and winking at Jemma when she catches her eye.

Simmons hides a smile behind her hand. "No, sir. I think that I will be just fine."

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! Something's off about this, but I quite put my finger on it to fix it. Potentially, I just can't quite make SHIELD gel for me, but either way, here it is. **

**Thanks again!**


End file.
